


If You Leave

by StartAnotherStory



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irving & Greagoir, Jowan & Surana - Freeform, References to suicidal ideation, yes beta we live like Wynne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StartAnotherStory/pseuds/StartAnotherStory
Summary: Anders knows every potential escape route from the Circle.  When it becomes clear that someone else knows, too, his initial terror turns to determination.  Whoever the other mage is, things can’t get better if they leave.
Kudos: 2





	1. The Window

_Anders_

The Circle Tower had very few windows, and fewer still that a human could climb out of. All the ones of a sufficient size for that were too high to be used in escape attempts. Anders knew every window big enough to release a human man out into the world, albeit briefly. He knew every latch, every cracked or broken pane. He knew which windows let in snow in winter, which saw the sun rise and which saw it set. Trapped as he was, he knew the seasons by which stars they showed him. He knew who held the keys for every lock and which locks had rusted shut. 

One window had a ledge that was perpetually covered in dust. Several decades earlier, the collapse of part of the tower’s outer wall had forced the Templars to rebuild. During this process, the corridors and rooms surrounding the window had been all but sealed off. You could get there – if you were determined enough to crawl for an hour in the dark, if you were strong enough to pull yourself up a sheer wall by your fingertips, if you were tall enough to reach the last of the handholds and swing yourself onto a ledge. Even the Templars didn’t bother patrolling there. In their armour, they wouldn’t have managed it anyway. So the window ledge was dusty. Until it wasn’t.

His first feeling was panic – he had finally been caught. But when his head stayed on his shoulders after a few frozen, disbelieving seconds, he started to take in the details. Someone had rested their hands on the ledge, leaving two lines where edges of their palms had rested on the edge and eight small dots which had once held fingers. The dust around the latch was disturbed, sitting in small clumps around the clasp. There was a patch of darker dust that suggested rain. Had someone opened the window? No, not possible – the latch was rusted shut. _Tears._ Tears, of course. The realisation came on its own, merely information, but suddenly he was crying himself, without feeling anything. As if the intruder’s feelings had stayed here, waiting for another host to finish the work.

Outside, and a very long way down, waves rolled sluggishly between protruding rocks. _Don’t do it._ The thought felt as if it had come from nowhere. _This isn’t fair._ For a moment the words almost didn’t make sense. The world seemed unreal. Then his eyes fell on the eight circles and his heart dropped. _You aren’t going to do this. I’m going to stop you._


	2. A Message Intercepted

_Anders_

“No, no you bloody don’t!” _Oh shit, oh shit shit SHIT._

Anders turned, beautifully practiced smile running from his lips to the corners of his eyes. “Knight-Commander, how nice to see you again. Is it the usual?” He decided against waggling his eyebrows. There was one subtle bone in his body, after all, even if it was one of the tiny ones in his ears.

“Back to the group, Anders, there’ll be none of your rubbish today.” 

“I’m too charming to be bored.”

“You’re not. Get back.”

 _Bugger. Stay inside, friend, I’m on my way._ Without knowing the other mage’s name, Anders couldn’t track him (or her, though that wasn’t as likely, given their probable height and the…method) down. So he’d taken to standing watch at the window, and leaving messages. Three days back, he had accidentally dropped one in the corridor. Since then, the Knight-Commander had been following him around, making it harder for him to sneak away and watch the window. He thought the other – whoever they were – hadn’t been back to the window yet. He had to believe it.


	3. An Investigation Starts

_Irving_

**Friend, you are not alone. I know it hurts. I know you’ve been in pain for a long time. So have I. We’re in this together, even if we don’t know each other’s names. Don’t leave. It can’t get better if you leave.**

The novice Surana turned the note over in her hands. There was nothing written on the back, just a smudge that smelled of apples. “How many notes have you found, First Enchanter?”

Irving turned his head. “Greagoir? Can you tell her the rest?”

The Knight-Commander nodded. “We’ve found three so far. They’re all like that. I suspected one of the apprentices – his name is Anders, he’s a little older than you – had dropped it, but the other notes were found in the library, in the possession of other mages. As far as we know, whoever’s writing them hasn’t done anything wrong…”

“…but they are trying to stop someone from escaping.” She stared again at the paper. “What do the others say?”

Irving opened a small box on his desk and handed her the contents.

**I know it doesn’t feel like it but you can get through this. It can’t get better if you leave.**

**People you don’t even know care about you. It can’t get better if you leave.**

Surana didn’t look at all convinced. Irving couldn’t blame her. “Child, I know this might feel like a betrayal, but look at the notes again. They’re not talking about an escape. Will you help us find the person these are written for?”


	4. Trust

_Surana_

It would have been exciting, if she didn’t know that the Templars would learn about whatever was going on. It was almost like a quest. A task that only she – well, anyone really, but Irving had chosen her – could complete. And then she would give the name to Knight-Commander Greagoir. _If_ she found whoever it was. _If_ she could bring herself to do it. 

Irving trusted the Knight-Commander, as did some of the Senior Enchanters, but she didn’t, not quite. It didn’t matter how honourable he was, or how hard he tried to be fair to them, if it was the Templars under him – some of whom were demonstrably bad people – who ended up with the name.

She had to look. She had to stop…what Irving thought would happen. But she had to protect them, too, whoever they were. But how? 

She found Jowan in the library, cowering under the glare of some Templar who hadn’t polished their greaves properly. She got between the Templar and her friend, feigning excitement. “Are you busy? Can I use your quill?”


	5. A Mystery

_Anders_

**KINDNESS IS NOT COWARDICE.**

Anders stared at the note. It was wedged into the back of some Templar’s pauldron, with the careful handwriting showing, upside-down, in a way that suggested it had been jammed in there by a hasty assailant. Because he had a slightly stronger instinct for self-preservation than a concussed tomato, he refrained from commenting on it. 

He drifted back to his quarters in a daze. Perhaps the notes that he’d been using as bookmarks had been found by someone else? Had he started a craze? He was grinning, but thinking about the notes reminded him of the window. He had to get back to that window. But first, he had to write more notes for whoever it was to find.

**Sometimes it isn’t you who’s bad at coping. Sometimes things are just shit. It can’t get better if you leave.**

**Don’t go. Tomorrow could be better. Next week could be better. Next month could be better. It can’t get better if you leave.**

He wanted to sign his name. He wanted to pour out his heart. But there was too much risk of getting caught. That, and some part of him felt he would taint the message by giving it a name, or a face.

When inspiration failed to strike again, he tucked the notes – carefully – into his sleeve, and pretended to lie down to sleep. There was no risk of actually falling asleep. There was the mystery of the other note to contemplate, and the footsteps of the Templars patrolling the halls made his heart jump.


	6. No Despair

_Anders_

**You are stronger than you know. It can’t get better if you leave.** That one he wedged into a crack in the lintel of an almost-bricked-up door. He usually bumped his head there, and he reasoned that it was unlikely the intruder was much shorter than him, given the route they had to take to the window.

Another note on a ledge, in the place he always grabbed before scaling the remains of the old exterior wall. With a short length of yarn, he hung another from a chandelier, just where a sliver of moonlight would catch it. 

Once he got to the window, he checked for further disturbances in the dust – there were none, thank the Maker. And then he realised. This wasn’t the only window in the tower. Maybe the other hadn’t returned here because they didn’t have to.

 _No._ He wouldn’t think like that. Despair never got anyone anywhere, except possessed. He pushed himself into the remains of an alcove and bit into an apple. He needed to know who the intruder was if he was going to succeed. He needed clues. He needed… All sorts of things. He needed to be able to add more logs to the fire on cold days without being looked at with suspicion. He needed to go to the library and read _for fun_. He needed to talk to someone – anyone – and know the conversation would go no further than the two of them. They all needed that. He wondered what his intruder needed. Wondered if there was any way he could give it to them.


	7. More Messages

_Anders_

Sneaking back to his bed, he had to pass the Knight-Commander’s office door. At that hour, it shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was standing open and he thought he could hear someone talking. Anders crept closer.

“What does it say, Wynne?” That was the Knight-Commander’s hushed voice.

Equally quiet, Wynne replied, “Stop moving your shoulders and I’ll tell you. You fidget even more than Cullen does. There! It says…what we did yesterday isn’t what we have to do tomorrow.”

“Cryptic rubbish. What did yours say?”

Anders crept past. Whatever his secret accomplice, or accomplices, were trying to do would be an excellent cover for him and his messages.

“It said thank you for trying.”


	8. The Visit

_Jowan_

Jowan ignored the footsteps, and the grumbling from the other novices. It was harder to ignore Surana as she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back in his chair. “You’re still reading that?” She was pretending to be brash, again, but anyone who bothered to listen for it could hear the anxiety in her voice. “Come on, I need your help.” She didn’t, he knew. She had a habit of throwing ideas around while she talked to people, and didn’t actually need a response from them in order to come up with new plans. Still, he followed her out of the library and down the hall.

“Where are we going?”

“To talk to Owain.” _Oh no._

Surana hadn’t met Owain before he was made tranquil. Jowan had been here longer. Owain had been lively, and prone to winding people up, and had been kind to Jowan when he first arrived. He didn’t remember the details – he’d been about six, and Owain about seventeen – but he remembered the first time he’d seen Owain after he was made tranquil. He couldn’t work out why his friend was indifferent to him. He thought he had done something wrong. 

Sometimes he wondered if it had been his fault. If only he had asked Owain to study with him, he might have been confident enough to go through with the Harrowing. If he had told a Senior Enchanter that Owain was struggling with his lessons, they might have given him more help. If Jowan had been a prodigy, like Surana, he might have been better respected – they might have asked him if Owain needed more time to study before the decision was made. If…

“Owain!” Surana also found it difficult to talk to Owain, Jowan knew, but unlike Jowan, she didn’t turn into a pile of useless silent jelly when she tried.

“How may I be of assistance?”

“We need some paper, ink and another quill. Sorry.” She was going through some sort of stationary-based phase. There wasn’t an undisturbed quill left in the tower. Jowan wondered if he should just give her his.

As Owain turned away, Jowan tried to look at his face. It was – it was difficult. The lack of emotion in the older man made him look as if he were wearing a mask made of his own face. His lips and skin and jaw moved as he spoke, but his eyes did not, apart from a few slow blinks that came when Jowan wasn’t expecting them. As Owain turned back, Jowan looked at Surana, who seemed unphased. He was glad Irving had given the task to her, and not him.

Ten minutes later, the two of them stared at the very small pile of notes and the relatively large pile of blank paper. She looked dejected. He put an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll think of something. You always do.” She always did. She smiled at him.

“Thank you, Jowan. I know, how about…” they both froze as a hand landed on Jowan’s shoulder. Her eyes slid to one side. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Wynne smiled down at them. “How about…you don’t have to be perfect?” It was kind. Senior Enchanter Wynne was kind, if in the most terrifying way possible. But she was wrong. They had to be perfect. Mages who weren’t perfect ended up dead, or worse.


	9. The Chantry

_Anders_

One of the notes had moved – someone had taken down the one wedged in the mantle, read it, and put it back. Someone had been up there. Someone had gone to the window. Was it Anders’ intruder? Had his plan worked? 

Suddenly, it struck him that it might not have – next time he went up there, the window might be open. The image, and its implications, sent a cold jolt down his spine, making him sit upright and gasp loudly, drawing attention to himself. _Fool,_ he berated himself, _stop being strange. Stop standing out._

Somehow, he managed to convince the Templar who was now breathing down his neck that he wasn’t about to start shooting off magic – he was just here to pray, thank you, what else would he be doing in the Chantry? He wouldn’t necessarily be able to sneak away, but it was easier to think when he wasn’t being watched. He opened a copy of the Chant and went to bury his nose in it, wondering if the sisters could be relied upon to bore themselves to sleep so that he could escape. A note fell out. **The Maker Yet Notices The Smallest Of Deeds.** Another one? The handwriting was different, again. He gawped at it for a moment, then smiled. There were worse things than people joining in with this…whatever it was. 

He realised one of the sisters was looking at him, and smiling. Blushing, he pushed the note into the book and left. Did she know? Had he been found out? But no, she couldn’t know. The Chantry was firmly on the side of the Templars. If she had known, they would have known, and he would have been confronted about it.

Perhaps his visit to the Chantry had had some effect, after all – on leaving he found the corridor empty of prying eyes. He took the opportunity, and hurried to get to the window. It was a risk, going again so soon. It took so long to get there, and get back. Someone would surely notice that he was gone. But it was a risk worth taking. He had to save his intruder. No matter what happened to him, his intruder had to be saved. 


	10. The Friend

_Surana_

“That’s Anders, the one you were asking about,” Jowan whispered in her ear, and nodded at an apprentice who had just left the chantry, eyes down and blushing. She wondered if the Knight-Commander had been right about him.

“Did you see what he was doing?”

“Reading, I think.” 

She grabbed Jowan’s hand and dragged him into the Chantry. He never questioned her when she needed help. Well, unless it was something that scared him, which was often, but he never left her to deal with things on her own. She hated being in the Chantry on her own. 

He picked up a copy of the Chant and handed it to her. Presumably it was what he had seen Anders reading. She flicked through it, trusting Jowan to dissuade anyone who tried to interrupt her. She found a note inside, not in the original handwriting. **The Maker Yet Notices The Smallest Of Deeds.**

“This is from the Chant, right? Do you know what it means?”

Jowan shrugged. He’d never been much interested in the Chant. Usually, that was an enormous relief – her memories from before she was brought to the circle were vague, but it was a comfort to have someone in her life who wasn’t a chew-the-furniture Andrastian. But it did mean that she would need someone else to decipher the message. She thought it sounded rather threatening, but they seemed to find comfort in it. Perhaps this was something she could take to Irving.

Next to her, Jowan fidgeted uncomfortably. He was almost as uncomfortable in there as she was – she had never seen him there by himself. She hoped that whoever her quarry was trying to save had a friend like Jowan.

**Author's Note:**

> This happens in the same world as "Brothers and Other Animals", but both are standalone stories.


End file.
